


feeding on fever

by mercutioes



Category: Follow the Leader (Podcast)
Genre: F/F, but here we are, i told myself i wouldn't be the first published fic for my own podcast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 15:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16221758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/mercutioes
Summary: a chase that ends differently





	feeding on fever

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harpydora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harpydora/gifts).



> spoilers for, uh, ftl 5.1?

“I like to think we have a pretty good working relationship,” Harley says, grinning despite the threat in her tone.  She backs Sol up another step. “I don’t want things to get messy if they don’t have to.”

“Then don’t make things messy, Matloff,” Sol shoots back, adrenaline still running hot-cold through her limbs, fight-or-flight tinged with arousal that she just can’t control.  She wonders if Harley can smell it. By the way her nostrils flare, the way she steps forward again and again until Sol’s back hits the bricks, she thinks that Harley knows  _ exactly _ what’s going on.

“Well, the problem is,” Harley murmurs, leaning in and caging her in with one arm beside her head on the wall.  “You make me wanna mess you up.” She’s close enough that Sol can see how her pupils expand, irises turning a gold-yellow that seems to glow in the dim city light.  Sol’s body screams for action, can’t handle staying still and caught like this.

So she kisses her, hard, one hand in Harley’s short, curly hair and the other fisted in her t-shirt.  Harley makes a noise halfway between a growl and a moan, pressing closer, cupping Sol’s jaw with a rough hand to control the tilt of her head.  It’s all teeth and adrenaline and the iron tang of blood, though it’s unclear which one of them is bleeding. Sol pulls back, panting. She licks her lips, feeling how swollen they’ve already become.  Harley grins.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” she says, licking the thin sheen of blood off her too-sharp teeth.  Sol swallows.

Their next kiss is just as rough, but this time when Sol goes to pull her hair, Harley growls and grabs her wrist, slamming it into the brick behind her.  Sol groans with surprise and arousal, biting hard at Harley’s bottom lip.

“You like that?” Harley murmurs, kissing sloppily from her mouth down to the corner of her jaw.  Sol bites back a curse when Harley snags her other wrist, pinning that one too.

Part of her screams that she’s a fool to do this, that she knows better than to let a wolf fuck her in an alley at night, no one around to help her if Harley decides to rip out her throat with her teeth instead of leaving red-purple bruises along her throat that sting and ache and make her clench her fists.

The other part of her likes the danger far too much to even think about stopping her.

“What do you think?” snaps Sol, mostly to prevent herself from saying something stupid like,  _ yes, yes, I like it, I like  _ you.  Instead, she struggles against the hold on her wrists though she has no leverage.  Harley shoves her thigh between Sol’s legs, a blunt kind of pleasure that makes her tilt her head back until it hits brick, eyes fluttering closed.

“I think you like gettin’ roughed up,  _ Marisol _ .”  Harley grins against her throat.  Sol can feel with aching certainty that the bruises all down her neck will last a week, at least, high enough that she has no chance of hiding them beneath a shirt collar.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” Sol grits out, somehow managing to wrench one of her hands away to fist in Harley’s hair.  She relishes the catch in Harley’s breath at the tug, a split second waver before the thigh between her leg grinds up viciously hard.

“You want me to touch you?”  Harley’s voice is tinged with a mocking edge but it does nothing but spur Sol on, makes her clench her fists.  She nods, sharp, but Harley just thumbs at her belt buckle, grinning at her. Waiting.

“Don’t make me ask for it,” Sol snaps, hips thrusting forward as if that will make Harley move any faster.  Harley laughs.

“Come on, Hawke,” she says, hand sliding down to cup her through her jeans.  It’s an infuriating tease through the denim. “Indulge me.”

“God _ damnit _ , just touch me, Matloff.”  Harley hums, as if waiting for more.  Sol growls. “ _ Please _ .”

Harley releases her other wrist so she can undo her belt and unzip her fly, quick and unceremonious, before she shoves her hand into Sol’s underwear.  She finds her cunt immediately, hot and open and embarrassingly slick. Sol groans and slings her now-free arm around Harley’s shoulders to pull her in closer.  Harley snickers against her neck at the noise she makes, circling her clit with deft, calloused fingers.

“Were you this wet the whole time I was chasing you?” she asks, taunting.  “Just waiting to be caught?” She bites at her throat again, just over an already stinging bruise, and Sol shudders.  “Not a very effective hunter, are you?”

“Fuck off,” Sol manages.  “Just shut up and fuck me.”

Mercifully, Harley does, sliding two fingers into her and crooking them forward as she fucks her.  The heel of her hand rubs against her clit, a blunt pressure and friction that makes her legs feel weak.  She leans heavily against the wall, her grip on Harley tight.

Harley’s stopped talking — another small mercy — instead pressing her lips to every exposed inch of Sol’s neck and collarbone she can manage.  Shame and fear and wanting war in Sol’s gut as she realizes just how good it feels to be  _ claimed _ , marked up with bruises and the smell of sex and sweat and the strange musk that must be Harley, must be the wolfish part of her, a claim to let the other wolves know who she belongs to, who she —

She comes with a shuddering cry muffled into the fever-hot skin of Harley’s shoulder.  She thinks in the moments after that she should have bitten down and left a mark of her own, but in  this instant all she can do is shake and cling and cry out. Harley fucks her through it, rough and fast.

Harley kisses her hard, drinking in the last of her soft, broken noises.  She pulls back and rubs at her clit with a thumb just to see Sol squirm from the pain of overstimulation, a little laugh escaping her lips.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Sol bites out, slumping against the bricks.  She moves her hands to Harley’s shoulders to keep herself steady while she regains the feeling in her legs.  Her whole body thrums and aches.

“So,” Harley says, conversationally, as if she didn’t just fuck Sol six ways from Sunday.  “You alright, Hawke?” She grins. Sol doesn’t know whether she wants to punch it or kiss it off her.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” she replies, pushing at Harley to get her to step back.  She’s shaky but solid on her feet and she runs a hand through her disheveled hair.  “Fuck, Matloff, there’s no way I’ll be able to hide these bruises.”

“What, don’t want all your friends asking questions about how you let a wolf fuck you?”

Sol shoves her away as she laughs, buckling her belt in jerky, defensive movements.  Harley finally quiets, arms folded across her chest and grin slashed across her face.  There’s a moment where they just look at each other — what can Sol even  _ say _ , after that?  Harley breaks the moment by chuckling, shoving her hands in her pockets.

“I’ll see you around, Hawke,” she says, giving a mocking salute as she turns to leave the alleyway.

Sol watches her go and a part of her brain that she can’t keep quiet hopes that she runs into Harley sooner rather than later.


End file.
